Long Eagerness Poems
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August 17 Scripture Meditations Based on Hosea 1-3
Key Verse – Hosea 1:7 But I will have mercy upon the house of Judah, and will save them by the LORD their God…
MY GOD, THANK YOU FOR HAVING MERCY UPON ME
Thank You for having mercy upon me despite my sinfulness
Thru Your goodness midst my selfishness
Toward fruitfulness in service-eagerness
Truly prosperous for faith’s steadfastness.
Thank You for having mercy upon me despite my limitation
Thru Your grace midst my affliction
Toward conviction in truth-instruction
Truly biblical for standard’s promotion.
Thank You for having mercy upon me despite my adversity
Thru Your guidance midst my disability
Toward progress in soul-prosperity
Truly productive for eternity’s bounty.
Thank You for having mercy upon me despite my ignorance
Thru Your wisdom midst my foolish tolerance
Toward diligence in holiness-endurance
Truly righteous for salvation’s assurance.
Thank You for having mercy upon me despite my impediment
Thru Your compassion midst my discontentment
Toward fulfillment in dedication-commitment
Truly meaningful for ministry settlement’s engagement.
Thank You for having mercy upon me despite my cowardice
Thru Your power midst my vain practice
Toward bravery in soulwinning and discipleship-office
Truly valiant for righteousness’ advancement with divine notice.
Thank You for having mercy upon me despite my disobedience
Thru Your omniscience midst my hypocrisy of worthless expedience
Toward humility in sincere confession-experience for clean conscience
Truly repentant for satisfaction’s patience.
August 17, 2022
Even good persons will be judged for their character,
for not having done enough when they could have;
ah, the judgment of the condemned will be harsher...
some believe it's a bluff, and they continue to misbehave!
There are different ways of giving,
it depends on how a heart is feeling;
the most generous give abundantly
and those less kind give meagerly!
Then who should be judged harshly?
The ones who hesitate to demonstrate kindness,
and are motived by their eagerness,
or those who are cold and refuse to show mercy?
In the eyes of God generosity is very delightful
when a hungry mouth devours a meal and is full;
be generous and give away some of your riches...
if abundance has blessed you beyond expectations!
Even good people will be judged for their character,
they might be humble, but their joy is undeniable;
everybody doubts that opening hearts has its rewards...
won't they feel a tenderness that is louder than cheer?
What thoughts exist behind your sullen eyes?
What hardships has your weathered self endured?
Determination in your sad face dies
within that haunting stare, past years ensured.
Your piercing, cold expression tells the tale
that happiness has left you long ago.
Acceptance in your lot has made you frail
from happenstances, only you can know.
The shadow of your face in darkness hides,
though part remains aglow in the full light;
perhaps where dream for eagerness resides-
safeguarding hope that future days delight.
Wish on, old man- time is your only hope-
remaining light grants you the will to cope.
June 29, 2022
Contest: The Pastel Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
(My poem was based on a pastel created by a
very talented artist named Terrilynn Dubreuil
who happens to be Greg Barden's sister.
Check out her website @TravelingArtista.com)
PoetrySoup has illustrious wordsmiths,
Helpers, counselors, encouragers. Human muses.
I jumped on this site with eagerness, not daring to hope for
Even a partial bit of what I have received.
I took the leap of faith, joining right away,
Without any idea how these new friends would soothe my soul.
And squelch my fears, and my doubt that what I wrote was actually poetry.
If I die tomorrow, I go satisfied,
Fulfilled by friends I have only met on paper,
Best friends who send me SoupMall,
Friends who have
Embraced my soul, and lifted me with the purest love.
Thank you. Your energy is appreciated with awe.
they are most likely to exploit
they are most likely to cause tensions
they speak ill of him
they wish not to be happy
that they continue to divide their loyalties
against him.
then those they wishes he'd favor
would be his enemy to undermine his
love aspirations
they applaud their successes so that
he will be unraveled and
less likely to see reason to
love again
his tomorrow's are the subjects
of their togetherness
that they see profit in keeping him single
they create complications with barriers
they refuse to see that his happiness is the key to
his ambition
even him calm is words to speak
that they act like witches
and are sorceresses who are mean
and unkind
rank him low
and his mind will be less likely to seek relationships
and he will not aspire above his rank as person
kind the smiles of witches
the frown of men do tell
his anger and frustration
speaks of his eagerness
to a world were woman hast
madest unkind
they value his wealth with his work-keyness
that the sources of his labors
are cashed to spend
they refuse to see that other are watching them
and the trapps and plans they make
will be turn straight back at them
Sometimes it feels easier to throw my younger generation
in with my older generation
and walk away,
as quickly as possible,
without drawing undue attention to my own eagerness
to disappear into blues of love's last kinder memories.
I wonder why
it seems they either want to kill each other
or they can't eat up enough of each other.
Nothing too much in-between,
which is more what I get
in-between these past and future generations.
In my own situation,
this older generation has become all too relentlessly white,
while my own kids are more of a brown sepia rainbow
of polyculturing color mix,
browns and whites,
without my ruminating blues.
My kids are sure their white grandparents were aliens,
possibly benign,
but never known,
too far away.
But, their brown skin grandparents
speak with fluent nourishing food,
good-news song and blues
of love and hated mistrust,
wariness of self-righteous
RightWing
AntiChristian trauma.
They sing brown stories of blues
fogging up from steamy hues,
for without love's heat,
no blue-souled warmth
to sacred sing too loud
and scold their bratty grandkids,
cherished as whom we have become together
contentious in this time
in-between too warm
climatic regenerations.
Without fencing, she tended her vegetable garden.
An openness rested in an unknown place.
A fragrant, floral scent rendered her pardon,
as well as a monarch butterfly's chase.
His wings so free, a challenge for seizing,
her legs took off beyond the unexplored.
He held a flower for a moment, self pleasing,
Her forward leap was a successful afford.
For a moment she held this forbidden treasure
pressed betwixt twig-like fingers.
Though only her own, not a mutual pleasure,
a moment's wispy flutters in her palm still lingers.
She longed to bottle him, a living possession,
but eagerness squeezed her childlike dream.
A chrysalis no longer, no cocoon impression,
but powderlike flakes devoid of a scream.
Her treasure dissolved, her heart partly broken,
though the air holds another butterfly.
She retraced her steps, each flower a token
of curiosity's feat and feet gone awry.
It's been so long ago since we both shared and parted company.
I can't even recall if you had a name.
If only you knew just how much you had meant to me.
Maybe you did. Maybe you felt the same.
I remember the day when we first met.
There you were enjoying the snack
that I had left for you or any one of your wild neighbors,
but it was you feasting that morning in my trap.
I was a kid who would humanely trap the occasional wildlife
then I’d keep them around for a while
in a large pen I had made
with the comforts of food, water and shade,
then I’d set them free again back into the wild.
Every captured animal I released, though I treated all royally
whenever they happened to be my captured guest,
would sprint back into their habitat with such eagerness to be Free,
But You Hung Around. You were not like the rest.
You and I were met by most with looks of amazement and bewilderment.
I was also no longer the helpless kid bullied by every punk.
Word quickly spread around
to all the bullies in town,
“Don’t mess with that kid who has the pet skunk.”
I won’t mention your name, Mr. Bully of Town Fame,
but do you happen to recall the day
when you and your group of punk friends
ambushed me yet once again,
but this time it was all of you who ran away ?
Such brave little cowards all of you were
as you all approached me with that look in your eyes.
You know the look that I mean.
It’s the look that was before long, no longer a surprise.
It was the look that says, “Look At Me ! I’m MEAN!!”
It was the look that said to me,
“This can only once again end painfully.
It’s Time Once Again For All Of Them To Beat Up On Me.”
You took one major good swing to my jaw and,
Oh yes, by the way,
my jaw didn’t work properly for many days after,
but I’d experience it again multiple times more,
if that were possible to explore
just to experience once again my joy and laughter.
That was the one and only punch that you landed on me,
And Then The Next Thing I Knew,
You were all crying and running away all frantically.
My Nameless Pet Skunk Skunked The Hell Out Of All Of You!!!
*
My Nameless Pet Skunk Will Always Be
A Very Special Part Of My Childhood History.
By now you're most probably R I P my little skunk buddy.
I remember our good bye, a bittersweet cherished memory,
when you returned back to the wilderness to once again live wild and free.
*
Twinkle, twinkle little star,
your light, that I can barely see,
has carved a path from somewhere far,
to travel through the galaxy.
In cobalt seas, your eagerness
has sent your light to touch my face.
Caressing with a tenderness,
until my heart can feel embraced.
Sun passed you by, so brief a glance,
refracted light against the sky.
And soon I have a second chance,
to search for every firefly
Twinkle, twinkle little star,
along with other stars that clone,
your ray of starlight comes so far,
the message clear, precisely honed.
It hurls through space, with news to share.
With constellations telescoped.
They rise up from a heaven's core,
and bring to earth a glimpse of hope
I'll gather up your brilliant hues.
A starlight garden for my view,
and thank you for the promised news.
I'll wait here, 'til the morning dew
___________________________________
For Kelly's Contest: Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star
4/23/15
Day after day kiddies of all ages count
As eagerness and excitement mount
Trick or treating planned for weeks
For little enthusiastic rosy cheeks
Finally the last day of October
Whether goblin, princess, witch or joker
Every child dressing in costume
Loot bags needing elbow room
Foot traffic builds as streets get dark
Knocking on doors wide-eyed with spark
Holding bag spread open for treats and candies
Eerie sounds from nooks and crannies
Giant spiders and ghosts hung low from trees
Make sure all kids run in packs raising their knees
Open coffins creaking and working up a fright
Rushing home well before the stroke of midnight
Read on air by invitation ~ October 30, 2020 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
AP: 3rd place 2025, Honorable Mention 2025